Childhood in the Suburbs

I lived my childhood 
As an adventurer and in imagination - always outside- always on the edge;
Cowboys and Indians
Bows and arrows shot between the red leaves of the old plum tree
Into the street;
Legends of Tarzan played out in daring crossings over fallen trees and the tiny stream in the park
With its lonely woodland which was considered dangerous by some adults;
But as children we stuck together - always in a small gang,
Out all day except for lunch;
We knew the route; we made paths through tall bluebells between
Corrugated iron;
We found nests and wondered as we turned the blue ovals in the moss
We swung from a rope tied high in the trees chasing the dust mottes and dappled sunlight through the leaves;
We made dens and decorated them;
I learnt the names of all the woodland flowers-made notes;
I made a museum and
Collected natural and geological Treasures and discarded rubbish;
Fascinated by the history of the place and its ancient route- I noted everything;
We found pottery and ancient walls;
We found hideouts;
We were spies writing codes
And using ciphers;
We found a gun;
And - an older man
With a mac-
Spied us.
And we ran home.
The police were informed.
We were banned from the woods
So we kicked dirt in the car park
And played football till dark.

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